


Say You're Okay (I'm Gonna Heal You Anyway)

by loochskywalker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abandonment Issues everywhere, Alternate Universe - Matt is a 19 year old Leafs Rookie, Brian Boyle is Matt's New Dad, Dysfunctional Family, Homophobic Language, I know it sounds really dark, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Supportive Teammates, even if they make a few mistakes, hockey fights, i promise most people in this are very loving and good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loochskywalker/pseuds/loochskywalker
Summary: Matt knows who Mitch Marner and Auston Matthews are. He’s talked to them, he’s held conversations with them. They’re nice -- Auston is more of a class clown than Matt would have thought, and Mitch has no sense of personal space.He just can’t relate to them.He thinks back to the locker room where Leo Komarov singled him out and asked to see his birth certificate because there was no way he was 19. The guys had laughed, and so had Matt. But it rings differently in his head now, when he’s out with all of them.ORMatt Martin is a 19 year old rookie for the leafs in the 2016-17 Season





	Say You're Okay (I'm Gonna Heal You Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen this is a pretty heavy and emotional fic because if i'm not writing porn this kind of stuff happens. I just want to reiterate that this is fiction and that there is no proof, nor do i think, that the way certain people in this fic are represented is in anyway how they are in real life. This was mostly me, using writing, to deal with a lot of stuff. In that way it was very therapuetic to me but it can be pretty rough too. I promise though there's a good ending! (and none of the abuse is sexual in nature) the relationship with Mitch is not the focal point, it's mostly around Matt's recovery but Mitch is part of that.
> 
> some spoilery stuff in the end notes you can read if you aren't sure you want to proceed or not.

_A lot of players invited to rookie camp don’t make it, Matt._

“I know, but…”

_If you expect too much, you’re gonna get hurt. Have you seen all the rookies they’re bringing in? You won’t even be able to crack the Marlies._

“I still have to try.”

_Of course you do. I didn’t raise you to quit on me, you’re just gonna get hurt._

“I’ll be fine. Either they’ll see value in my game or they won’t, and there’s nothing I can do about that. All I can do is play my game the best I can.”

_I’m just saying—if they wanted an enforcer, they’d go out and get a vet. You’re 19._

“I’m bigger than most 19 year olds, and I’m not scared of anything. One of the other rookies is 5’11” and…”

_You’re slow, and you look lost when you touch the puck. It didn’t impress the Windsor triple A team and it’s not going to impress the NHL; it’s definitely not going to impress a team already drowning in rookies like the Leafs.”_

“It impressed the O. It impressed Sarnia.”

_You walked on._

“I proved myself. The Leafs are giving me a chance to prove myself again. But I know...I know I’ll be back in Sarnia to start the season, but…”

_Just don’t come crying to me when you get your heart broken._

“Okay. I won’t.”

 

*******

 

Rookie camp is split into two groups: those who have spent the last few years of their hockey career counting the days until their first NHL goal, and those who are just happy to be there. Matt doesn’t know where he fits in, doesn’t know _how_ he fits in. It’s not that he’s somehow in between these groups—he just feels on the fringe where no one can see him. The drills they run and the things that are asked of them are designed specifically for players who aren’t him. His roommate, Gauthier, knocks him in the shoulder when he takes significantly longer in the speed skating drill than his partner. But even the lumbering giant that Gauthier is doesn’t understand what’s really going on in Matt’s head.

It wasn’t until he was passed over for the Windsor Jr. Spitfires that he realized he wasn’t the player he thought he was going to be. He remembers cold hands, tying and untying the same pair of shoes as he sat on his porch. It was windy and it was snowy, but he couldn’t feel anything past the winter storm in his stomach. And he definitely couldn’t go inside.

Hockey was all he had. Hockey and bruised hands and an empty house.

So he changed his game. He used the one thing kids around him didn’t have that he did. Matt was 6 feet tall by the time he was 15, 6’2” by the time he was 17, and just this past weekend he was measured at 6’3” by the Toronto Maple Leafs. His early growth spurt got him into the OHL, onto the Sting. His bruised knuckles got him the C to start this season in Sarnia.

But fighting and hitting and stepping in front of pucks is Matt’s least favorite part of hockey. It hurts like hell, the cold, dry air of the arena unforgiving on his skin. Every game feels like he’s limping away from battle, from _war_ , and his teammates never understand why he doesn’t want to go out after. Why he doesn’t want to get drunk, or hook up, or do anything besides crash in his bed.

When he was a kid, he’d dream of endless periods, endless seasons, winning the Stanley Cup and playing a home opener the next day. He couldn’t understand how anyone would want to do something that wasn’t hockey. But after his first few seasons in the O he’s already waiting for the off season when his body can finally heal, when he finally stops _hurting_ , when the throbbing behind his eyes settles.

So of course the only thing he’s good at is absorbing pain. He keeps his mouth shut and he sucks it up. He’s lucky to be here. He’s _lucky_ when his knuckles bleed because it means people see him. It’s only when he’s painted red, and purple, and blue, and black, that people finally notice him. He’s had a good game if he comes away slightly nauseous and no one else did. He gets a call from his dad when he has those games. Games where he assists, where he scores, he’s hidden under the noise of the locker room, and no one sees him anymore. Victory is nice, and it feels good, but it doesn’t paint shit so Matt stays invisible.

He was taught from a young age to never fight back. When you take a hit, you sit there and you take it. You keep your mouth shut, you ignore how fragile your bones feel under your skin, and you fucking _take it_. Raising your fists or your voice is a sign of weakness. Real men, they take it with a steady face and don’t tell anyone shit. So he thinks maybe all those years of not hitting or fighting back explode out of him on the ice, even though he hates it and he doesn’t want it.

But anything is worth it when you get a call to join an NHL team's rookie camp, especially the Leafs.

Matt grew up a Wings fan, a Zetterberg fan, a Datsyuk fan. The Leafs in comparison haven’t had the same kind of success that the Wings have had in his lifetime. There was Sundin and there was Kessel but there were no cups and there were barely any playoff runs. He doesn’t remember a time where the Leafs were good, but his grandfather, his mom's dad, would take him out to the garage and point at the walls adorned in Leafs memorabilia.

“They’re one of the greatest teams,” he’d tell Matt. “They’re as old as the NHL, they’re part of hockey in a way only 5 other teams are.”

Matt for his part, as a 5, 6, 7 year old, would shake his head and stick out his tongue. He didn’t like the Leafs, he liked The _Wings_ , and his grandfather had it all wrong. He told his grandfather the Wings would make the playoffs for the rest of his life and win the cup one hundred more times by the time Matt was his grandfather’s age. He told his grandfather that the Leafs would always suck, that they’d always struggle. And his grandfather just laughed and patted his head and agreed, he’d say “You’re probably right,” and it would make Matt smile so much his face hurt.

HIs grandfather died last year, and when Matt looks around the locker room at all the other rookies who are so much better than him he aches; not in his ribs, not along his cheekbone or down his thigh, but in that same winter storm that’s still churning in his chest. There’s so much hope in this one room, and Matt gets to witness it, but his grandfather doesn’t. Matt gets to witness it, but he doesn’t get to be apart of it.

 

*******

“They put me on the roster for preseason.”

_Why?_

“I don’t know...they said they liked what they saw but they thought I’d be better in game situations, that they wanted me to play with the veterans. Babcock said that’s where i’d really shine.”

_They think you can match up against veteran NHL players? Like who?_

“I don’t...I don’t know, Komarov maybe, Kadri.”

_So two guys a lot smaller than you? Kadri is gonna teach you how to stand up to Zdeno Chara? John Scott…_

“He’s not..”

_What?_

“He’s not in the NHL anymore, John Scott isn’t…”

_I don’t give a shit Matt. You should be angry at the Leafs for this. They’re putting you on the line to just rip it out of you the last second. It’s heartless._

“Or what if they just believe in me?”

_Why would they believe in you? They just want to see you get hurt._

“Why? Why would they want that?”

_Entertainment for the other rookies maybe? You got first overall Auston Matthews who’s going to score circles around you, fourth overall Mitch Marner who has more speed in his little toe than you have in your whole body, and even guys like Zach Hyman who work harder than you. They don’t have any use for you Matt, you might as well come home now._

“I’m not going until they send me home. I can’t just leave. This could be my only shot.”

_It is your only shot. But think long and hard about how much it’s really worth it. And I’ll tell your mother to keep your room clean so you can come home to something nice._

“Okay.”

 

******

 

Matt knows who Mitch Marner and Auston Matthews are. He’s talked to them, he’s held conversations with them. They’re nice -- Auston is more of a class clown than Matt would have thought, and Mitch has no sense of personal space. But Matt feels like he’s met them before, and not just because he’s played in the O with Marner. They act like every other player he’s met who knows what’s in their future, all relaxed smiles and open laughs.

He just can’t relate to them. Even when he goes out with them and the other few rookies who made the preseason roster, he can’t relate to them. He tries. He listens to their stories. He listens to Auston talk about playing pro in Switzerland. He listens to Mitch talk about winning the Memorial Cup and every other award available in the CHL. Mostly guys like Brown or Hyman or Nylander jump in. Regardless if the rest of the played in the OHL or the Swiss league they still find somehow to relate to them. And Matt just listens politely and sips at his beer every now and then.

He thinks back to the locker room where Leo Komarov singled him out and asked to see his birth certificate because there was no way he was 19. The guys had laughed, and so had Matt. But it rings differently in his head now, when he’s out with all of them and feels like maybe he should be back at the hotel. There’s no bruises to shake off, no overwhelming fatigue, and yet he feels like he should be doing something else. He doesn’t feel like he’s 19 years old around these guys either.

“No one’s gonna like you with an attitude like that,” his dad had said to him when he was 8 years old. He loved hockey, but being driven home from it was a different sort of battle. All Matt would do is trace little doodles into the fogged up glass of the car, snow falling behind the lines his fingers made. “They’re gonna think you’re uptight and better than them, I didn’t raise you like that, did I?”

Matt remembers looking up and seeing his dad staring back at him in the rear view mirror. He remembers shaking his head slowly and saying, “No, dad.” Because he hadn’t, but Matt wasn’t really sure what his dad raised him like at all.

“You need to lighten up, talk to a few kids,” His dad had said, looking back down at the road and turning on his blinker. “If they don’t like you they won’t have your back. You want them to have your back right?”

“Right, Dad.”

“Then you gotta talk to them more. No more of this ‘too good for them’ bullshit.”

“It’s not…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Matt knows this is a similar situation, especially with young adults who read into every little thing. He doesn’t think he’s better than them, but he doesn’t know what to say to them, feels an awkward claw grabbing at his throat every time he tries to think of something to say. It all sounds stupid in his head, all feels awkward in his mouth when he does decide to say something. And it’s not because Matt thinks he’s better than them, it’s the opposite. Why would guys like Auston and Mitch ever talk to a guy like him?

When it comes down to it, they all belong here and Matt doesn’t. Matt’s here on some fluke. Matt’s here because he’s big but he’s not _that_ big. He’s not as big as Mitch and Auston are good. Hell, he’s Auston’s size almost exactly, even if Auston struggles with the same sort of thing that Goat does, all that size and no idea how to focus it.

He wonders if he could grab Auston in the corner during on ice training, shove him against the glass and talk him through it. Tell him what his left hand should be doing while focusing on his right hand. How to move his body for more than just scoring goals.

But he doesn’t, knows he couldn’t. There isn’t anything in the world he could teach a guy like Auston Matthews.

Mitch Marner is a different story altogether. He’s got power. But it’s not the kind of power Matt is used to. He knows it intimately though, from all the times he’s tried to knock Marner down in the O, and all the times he hopped right back up, or made Matt go crashing into the boards, dodging him easily and making Matt look like an idiot. Matt couldn’t get him down to save his life. He thinks maybe they’d want a guy like him to protect a guy like Marner, but he doesn’t think Mitch needs any protection at all.

Brownie is about the only guy who gets him, really, which is nice, but Matt still doesn’t know how to talk to him. Brownie went 6th round in the draft, Matt went 5th, which is about the only thing he has over him. He thinks Brownie is also suffering from people seeing his size and shying away. He’s about an inch taller than Mitch but he’s still only about 180 pounds soaking wet. And he was hung out to dry by a terrible Otters team. He doesn’t need to say that Brownie is better than him and deserved to go higher in the draft, they all know it’s true.

“Is that all you’re gonna have?” Matt shakes himself out of his day dream to look up at Mitch, who’s leaning across the table at the bar, with a concerned look on his face.

Matt raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Probably. Why?”

“You should have something else. When the season starts, you’re going to not get many chances to like, party and shit,” Mitch says, he seems genuinely concerned about Matt’s ability to get drunk.

It dawns on him that Mitch is implying Matt is going to be staying up for the NHL season, and not being sent back to the much shorter and easier to deal with OHL season. He blinks, confused and a little shocked.

“Uh,” is all he can say.

“I’ll go get you something else,” he says, and Mitch is gone from the table before Matt can really blink.

He flicks through emotions like an old timey photo projector. Surprise, first, and then embarrassment. Maybe everyone’s fucking with him.

But he doesn’t have time to sort through all the images in his mind before Mitch drops another drink in front of him and goes to sit across from Matt again, tucking himself under Auston’s arm, who’s talking to Hyman, his words already slurring.

Mitch brought him another beer and Matt wants to drown in it.

 

*****

 

“Did...did you see the goal?”

_Of course I saw the goal. Dirty bang in at the front of the net, where you’re going to making your paycheck, probably._

“Yeah, probably. Kulikov was trying to get me to move but he couldn’t. He couldn’t push me out of the way.”

_He got you in the ribs a few times._

“He did, it’s fine.”

_Of course it’s fine, I wasn’t asking if it was fine._

“Oh.”

_Besides, it’s only preseason, we all know it doesn’t matter. And every player on your team scored tonight._

“Not..”

_Not?_

“Not, um, Marner or, Brown.”

_Really, Matt? If you measure yourself against them, you’re going to get sent home tomorrow. Besides, Marner got two assists, that’s two points. How many points did you have?_

“One.”

_One._

“I’m just saying I...”

_You what, Matt?_

“I scored, in the NHL, against NHL players. I scored, you didn’t think I could.”

_If being in the NHL is about impressing me, you’re not gonna make it._

“If it was about impressing you, I would have given up a long time ago.”

_Yes, because I’m the worst dad, ever, aren’t I? It’s tough love, Matt, you’ll thank me for it later._

“I’m sure I will.”

 

*******

 

Marner skates up to him during practice one day, “You need to teach me how to fight,” he says. “Come on, I can take you,” his face is bright and flushed and he’s smiling this big and wide thing. It should look stupid, his smile, it takes up too much of his face. But Matt can’t stop looking.

“You think?” he asks.

“Of course,” Mitch says, putting his fist up and hitting a boxing stance, or at least what he thinks one looks like. “I know you, you’re not that tough.”

Matt grins and reaches for Mitch, easily tucking him under his arm and feigning punches to his stomach.

“Agh!” Mitch shouts and tries to get out from under Matt’s arms.

“You weigh what?” Matt asks as he easily keeps Mitch contained even as he’s absorbing a few soft blows, “40 pounds less than me?”

“Shut up,” Mitch huffs before going limp in Matt’s hold. “Fine, whatever, I can’t take you.”

“That’s a surprise,” Matt lets him go.

As soon as he’s let go, Mitch immediately goes for the face, grabbing Matt’s visor and shoving him against the glass with his shoulder. He gets a few punches in on Matt’s stomach before Matt regains his composure and starts laughing. He bear hugs Mitch to stop him and they’re bent over, Matt holding Mitch’s arms to his chest.

“You done?”

Mitch is panting hard like he did more than just shove Matt against the glass. “Fine,” he says finally.

“You sure?” Matt’s not about to let him get away with that again. Or maybe he is. It’s not like it’s difficult for him to wrestle Mitch until he’s forced to stop. He likes the feistiness too, he thinks. So much about hockey is cold; the ice, the people, the drills, the shock of a win. But Mitch is fiery and warm and bright. Matt isn’t sure how he ended up in a rink.

“It’s not worth it anyway,” Mitch huffs. “You’ll just cheat.”

“So winning is cheating now?” Matt asks, letting go of Mitch. Bending Mitch over like that for any longer, covering him with Matt’s body would be awkward and weird and catch attention.

When Mitch resurfaces he’s flushed all over, his helmet knocked askew and he’s grinning. “Winning is only cheating when it’s someone else who wins against me.”

“Oh, of course, because how would you ever win if you were cheating too?”

“Exactly.”

Matt wants to make a comment about Mitch’s smile melting his cold, dead, heart but he doesn’t think Mitch will get the joke. So Matt just knocks him in the shoulder, and grins back.

Matt is also set to play in almost every single preseason game and he knows each game could be his last, probably _should_ be his last. So he locks down and plays like it. He can see the veterans and even some of the other rookies taking it easy, not pushing it as hard, taking losses easier. He’s never been in a lighter room after a loss than when they fall 2-1 to Detroit in their second to last preseason game.

It sends him reeling, catches him off guard. Matt limps into the locker room, coming back from war and finds a room of guys throwing balls of tape at each other and wrestling in their under armour. If he had any strength left in him, he’d be pissed about it, if this was Sarnia he wouldn’t even hesitate before he got up and yelled at his teammates for not taking it seriously. But this isn’t Sarnia, this is Toronto, and he’s not even on the team. Of the rookies, he’s probably the least important. There’s nothing Matt could get up to say.

All he can do is strip off his padding, trying to pretend there isn’t a bruise blooming on his thigh, and that the game was nothing to him too. If anything, he can be proud that he gave everything in his time with the Leafs. When they send him home he can hold his head high knowing that he didn’t fuck around in the locker room after a loss because he laid down his body the way they wanted him too.

No one is going to outwork him.

He lingers in the showers and feels along his body, pressing into sore spots to test how sore they really are. His thigh is going to be stiff and sore for days, especially since they’re playing another game tomorrow in Detroit.

When they get on the bus, Matt knocks the large bruise forming on his thigh into one of the seats armrest, and like always he just grins and bears it. It’s not worth it to react even as the pain blooms up his body and explodes like a supernova in his chest.

He’s nauseous when he sits down in his seat, and from the giggles he hears in the back where the rest of the rookies are huddled, he can tell that they’re just fine.

He’s done his job, he’s painted purple, and he took a slash to the thigh that could have hit someone else, someone more important than him. And he’s invisible to his teammates, but he can only hope he’s not invisible to the coaches.

 

********

 

_That was your last game on the Leafs, and you lost?_

“It was a close game, and I scored…”

_Should have scored one more and it would have actually mattered._

“I didn’t think I’d get any goals this preseason but I have three.”

_If it was about goal scorers, you wouldn’t have made it as far as you did. And what else did you do last game? You were running from hits. Who do you think you were impressing?_

“I was hurt.”

_What?_

“The night before, I got slashed in the leg. I was just trying to, I don’t know, like, take care of it, I guess.”

_You were hurt._

“Yeah. But I mean, I still played well, I just couldn’t…”

_That was your last game in the NHL, the last time I’ll ever seen any of my children play professional sports, and you didn’t try your hardest because you were hurt?_

“It just didn’t make sense to…”

_It didn’t make sense._

“It’s the preseason, I have a lot more hockey to play this year whether it’s in the OHL or…”

_Or? Sorry, do you expect to end up somewhere else this year?_

“No I just meant this wasn't going to be my last hockey game. If I’m not going to make the Leafs, hurting myself would just keep me from playing in the O as well. ”

_Matt, this was the only thing you’ve done that’s ever actually mattered, and you didn’t try your hardest. That’s never good enough._

“I fought harder than everyone else in that room! They weren’t even affected by the losses! They weren’t even pushing themselves they…”

_How many times do I have to tell you that the more you compare yourself to them the worse you’ll look? These players aren’t trying as hard because they don’t have to. You have to give 200% more than them just to get anyone to pay attention to you. You know what they’re saying about you in the news?_

“No.”

_No one knows why you’re still around. You haven’t impressed anyone Matt. So I don’t care if you walked away from that game with a broken leg, you won’t matter more than you did in that moment, ever again. And you blew it._

“Sorry.”

 

_******_

 

“So, Matt, I’m just curious to know how you think this preseason and training camp has gone for you. I know we have a lot of rookies this year and you don’t fall in the same category as the rest of them, so it’s hard to draw a comparison, but how would you rate how you played your game up here with us?”

Babcock is just as intimidating as he always is, even when he’s leaning back in his chair, his expression more thoughtful than anything. It makes Matt want to rub at his palms and press his thumbs into them to feel the way they pulse, ground himself in something tactile and ever present.

“It went okay,” Matt said, Matt _lied_.

“Just okay?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Matt paused. “I should have done more. We could have won more games if I just pushed a little harder and I know that. But I surprised myself in some ways too? I mean, I scored more goals than I thought I would.” He tries to turn his mouth up at that, make a joke out of it; A self deprecating, look-how-pathetic-I-am joke.

“I don’t agree with that.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t just do okay Matt, you did great.”

“What?” the air is sucked out of the room, and Matt really can’t help but laugh.

“You say you should've done more? Most nights, you were the only one I didn’t have to yell at to take it seriously. If you play that way during the preseason, I can only imagine what kind of warrior you’d be in the NHL full time. We didn’t call you up to watch you score goals but knowing you can at a regular rate definitely makes the decision to keep you an easier one.”

“We need something different out of every player, we don’t ask each rookie to give us the same thing. We want them to play their game and use them to the best of their abilities so no one’s potential is untapped. What you have is something that some guys just do or don’t -- you have heart. You’re a career fourth liner, and I think if we can get you a good, solid fourth line centre, this is where you belong.”

“I don’t...understand,” Matt floundered, “What are you saying?”

“You made the cut.”

“For what?”

“Opening night lineup.”

“For...the Leafs?”

“Yes, Matt, you’ve made the 2016-17 Toronto Maple Leafs opening night roster. We just have to do some retooling but I want a guy like you on my team. You shouldn’t be hanging around in the OHL too much. It’s not good for you.”

“No offense,” Matt says, “I know you know more about this than I do, and that you wouldn’t just jump into a decision like this, but are you sure? I mean I’m just...you have so many good scorers in the Marlies, so many better players than me. And you want me on the fourth line?”

“I know what I’m looking for in this team, Matt, and it may seem counterintuitive, but there’s a character aspect that follows each great team. I’d love to just throw team Canada out there on the ice, but I can’t. I have to build a team and there’s a lot more that’s involved in that than just being handed the best NHL players in the world.” Babcock pauses. “Have some confidence in your game, kid, you’re far from the worst out there. You belong here. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been invited up in the first place.”

“Oh. I guess I just...” Matt took a deep breath. “I’m just really surprised. I didn’t expect this.”

“I know,” Babcock nods. “You fought until the final game. I noticed, Lou noticed, your teammates noticed. That’s something I want to bring to this locker room. I honestly don’t know how you’re 19 years old.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel 19 either.”

When Matt leaves the office and walks back into the locker room, he’s immediately intercepted by Mitch who steps in front of him and grabs his shoulders.

“So,” he prompts.

“Uh, I made it,” Matt says, he still can’t really believe it’s true. “On the roster. I made the team.”

Mitch jumps at him and wraps his arms around him tightly. “That’s so awesome!” He’s shouting, as Matt slowly hugs back. “This year is going to be amazing, we’re so going to kick ass -- well…” Mitch pulls away with a grin. “You’re going to kick ass and I’ll score the goals.”

“Sounds good,” Matt smiles back at him. “Although hopefully, we’re both scoring goals.”

“I got your back on that one,” Mitch says, sticking his fist out and Matt bumps it with a smile.

The thing is, Matt knows he’s supposed to be excited, knows he’s supposed to be happy. And he tries for a few days, wearing it like a new shirt, showing up to practices knowing he’s going to be a real life professional hockey player. But the happiness and the pride are artificial, they’re fragile. By the time it’s their first game of the season, it feels more like smoke than the mask he thought he had built it into.

He almost calls in, says he’s too sick. He’s doubled over the toilet the moment he wakes up, his stomach retching. He’s sore, and he hurts, and he feels like he’s tricked everyone into thinking he’s something he isn’t. He’s going to step out on that ice tonight and collapse in front of everyone, be a failure. There’s no one in the world who truly believes he can do it so why should he?

The NHL is supposed to be his dream, but all he can think, as he tries to regain his composure, is that it’s going to be hell. Getting on the plane to Ottawa is going to be hell, practice is going to be hell, the game tonight is going to be hell. He gave up on his dreams to be in the NHL years ago. He wasn’t supposed to get this far. He can’t keep this up.

 

******

 

“Did you catch the game?”

_I put it on for a bit, but when that Matthews guy was the only one doing anything, I knew I wasn’t going to miss you do anything._

“I did okay.”

_Did you score?_

“No but I’m not supposed to score, I thought.”

_You’re always supposed to score, what kind of bullshit is this, Matt? Just because you’re not good at it doesn’t mean you don’t get to do it._

“No I know it’s just, you told me not to compare myself to Auston.”

_I know what I said, Matt. Don’t twist my words around._

“Yeah. Sorry.”

_If you plan on doing anything tonight, let me know and I’ll turn the game on, but right now I have no plans to._

“What about Justin?”

_Ask him yourself._

“I just wanted to know if you…”

_He’s an adult, he can do what he wants, Ask him yourself._

 

******

 

“Here, like this,” Justin said, adjusting Matt’s grip on the stick settled in his hand. “If you hold it like this, your release will be faster and I won’t be able to stop it as easily. Try to aim for above my blocker side okay? They call that the weak side for a reason.”

“Dad says I should just shoot it,” Matt said still looking down at his stick, at his sore, cracked red hands holding onto shaft.

“No offense, but,” Justin paused, crouching down further so Matt could look up at him easier, “Dad doesn’t know shit about hockey okay? You don’t have to listen to anything he says about it alright? I got your back. Would I ever tell you to do something that was wrong?”

Matt, staring him back in the eyes, shook his head no, feeling the wood in his hands creak a little as he gripped the hockey stick tighter.

Justin tried his best, telling Matt how to score and where to score and how to hold his body and his equipment but he couldn’t get more than a few goals passed his brother. It sucked. Matt was only 9, and nothing was working. His body was weak and he was so tired, from his father yelling at him earlier to Justin making him work out in the garage with him for hours. It _sucked_.

Later that night when Matt was face down in his bed, breathing deeply into the pillow, his body locked up, he heard a knock on his door. When he looked up, Justin was standing in the doorway, entering the moment he made eye contact with Matt, like that was all the invitation he needed.

“You okay?” he asked.

Matt’s cheek throbbed.

“Listen,” Justin sighed as Matt turned around to sit up, his body moving through mud. “He’s going to give you shit for the rest of his life. That’s just who he is. But trust me, you’re great, okay? I wouldn’t spend hours after school in the garage with you if that wasn’t true. Just don’t...don’t let him tell you what you can and cannot do.”

“But I have to,” Matt said. “He’s my dad. he knows.”

“No he doesn’t,” Justin shook his head, “I don’t know why Dad is the way he is, and I don’t know why Mom doesn’t see it. But we gotta stick together, alright? Family is all you got in this world, and we’re it.”

“I don’t…”

“You’re going to make it to the NHL one day, you hear me? I’m not good enough, but you are. You skate circles around the other kids, and you’re bigger than all of them too. That’s all it takes to be in the NHL. That’s all you need. After that comes hard work, and we’re going to do that part together alright?”

Matt nodded.

“Through all of this, I got your back. And when you make it to the NHL and they ask you how you did it, I want you to look in the camera and say ‘Fuck my dad, it was all me.’ Don’t let him take credit for what you’ve become. If you get anywhere, it’s because _you_ got there, not because he yelled at you until you made it. You understand?”

Matt nodded again.

The next year, when Matt was 10 and Justin was 17, there was a crashing sound from the kitchen below. Matt didn’t know what he thought he was going to do, but he immediately leapt from his desk and ran to the hallway, down to the stairs. The shouting that was already starting up made him stop, grab the railing and peer into the living room, where he could see the shadows of his dad and brother from the kitchen.

“If you live in this house, you respect the rules!”

“They’re bullshit rules!”

“I don’t give a fuck if you think they’re bullshit or not. If I told you, you couldn’t eat for three days straight I expect you to follow it! You don’t question me, you don’t fight back on me, you do what you’re told.”

“You’re a fucking crazy person! You don’t give a shit whether I follow the rules or not! You’re always finding shit that I fuck up. That is bullshit! I don’t have to put up with it!”

“If you live here, you do!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to fucking live here then!”

“Where are you going to go? Huh? You have no job, you’re a shitty hockey player, all of your friends are drunks.”

“My friends are fine! And who the fuck are you to call anyone a drunk? Are you _kidding_ me?”

“If you want to be a functional member of society, you can stay here under this roof and follow my rules. If you want to be a deadbeat like every other poor asshole on the streets, go for it! I’m not going to mourn you.”

“I could fucking die at war and you wouldn’t mourn me. You don’t give a shit about anyone.”

“You’re an overdramatic teenage boy. You’re 10 year old brother has more sense than you do.”

“Don’t fucking bring Matt into this.”

“Or what? He’s _my_ son, not yours.”

“I don’t give a shit what he is or is not to you. Matt is fucking terrified of you, and he’s a kid! That’s the only reason he does what you want him to. Soon, he’s not going to be a kid anymore. He’s going to be bigger and stronger than you, and you won’t be able to bully him around anymore.”

“If you think this is bullying, you’re not going to last a day in the real world.”

“Good. I don’t want to fucking last in a world like this.”

“I want you out of my house immediately.”

“Fine!”

There was a scuffle before Justin stormed out of the kitchen and punched the wall in the living room. Matt jumped back, his hands reflexively loosening around the bars on the stairs. He didn’t run away though. He just watched as Justin grabbed the door handle and flung it open. The cold, winter air he let into the house felt like nothing, everything was numb. Matt met his eyes again, and without saying anything else, Justin stepped outside and closed the door.

A few days later, Matt’s dad made him help fill in the hole in the dry wall.

“See, this is where not listening gets you,” Matt’s dad said. “I’ll never steer you wrong, you hear me?”

“Yes,” Matt said.

“There are going to be a lot of people in your life who are just going to walk out on you because they can’t handle the truth,” his dad said. “And it’s not going to be your fault. Some people just aren’t strong enough.”

“Am I?” Matt asked.

“What?”

“Am I strong enough?”

His dad reached down and put a hand on his shoulder. “You are. I can tell.”

8 years later and Matt still hasn’t seen Justin since. There’s one text thread where Justin asked him for money, for a plane ticket to come visit him. Matt sent him the money and still hasn’t seen him.

Some people just leave and they don’t come back.

 

*******

 

_Did you hear the good news?_

“What?”

_Next roadie we’re gonna be roommates! I think they’re going to keep us together, too! There’re just so many rookies that they’re shuffling around, sending some down and calling others up! But we’re like, staples here._

“I can’t believe they’re making me room with you. I’m not watching Cartoon Network in the hotel!”

_That’s bullshit because, one, I do not watch Cartoon Network and, two, you totally would watch Cartoon Network. Don’t play me._

“I’m sure there’s like, golf on.”

_You know when Leo jokes that you’re his age, they’re just jokes right? You don’t have to actually be 30._

“You don’t have to actually be 10.”

_Being 10 is far more fun than being 30._

“Really? We must have had very different childhoods.”

_Probably, I grew up a cool Leafs fan and you grew up a boring nerdy Wings fan._

“Yeah, all those playoff runs really hurt, and that time they won the cup in my lifetime was the absolute worst. I’m so upset I got to see that.”

_Shut up. We’re both on the Leafs now okay? We’re going to make sure they win another cup in our lifetime._

“This ye...no, next year. We need to make sure you can actually lift the Stanley Cup before we win it.”

_Ha ha ha, yeah I get it. I’m small._

“It may actually be bigger than you. How tall are you again?”

_Shut the fuck up Marty. we’re going to be spending a lot of time together this year._

“We already do. You already eat breakfast with me, and sit next to me on the bus, and on the plane, and…”

_I don’t hear you complaining! I’m the best roommate-seat buddy of all time. I may even throw you an assist here or there. It’s in your interest to be nice to me._

“I am nice to you, I’m _so_ nice to you.”

_Then you’ll let me watch whatever I want on the road._

“Probably was going to anyway, but if it’s embarrassing, I’m totally telling the guys.”

 

******

 

The trade for Brian Boyle goes through before the game in Winnipeg and the first thing Matt thinks is that Babcock said they needed to get him a career fourth liner. Boyle is probably the best at that, Matt thinks. It should make him feel better too, because even though he’s been playing his game defensively, he’s not going to pretend he’s done anything great in the offensive zone. Brian Boyle would give him all the guidance and help he’d need as a fourth liner, walk him through how to play his role and how to be better at it. But that sucks, makes Matt feel like he needs to run to the bathroom to puke again before they’re set to go out on the ice.

He’s not just on the roster, they’re _investing_ in him. He must have done something wrong, faked it a little too well, for them to think it was a move worth making. Maybe they just wanted Boyle, but most likely Matt thinks it’s his fault. When he reads the names of the players they lost for him, he feels even worse, like he needs to call them all up individually and apologize.

He still has to fight through the Winnipeg game. It’s great at first, all the other rookies are flying and Matt gets to kill off a penalty. Him, Sosh, and Smith are doing their best to hold down the fort but a few bad bounces here and there, and they’ve lost their 4-1 lead. The game ends 5-4 in overtime and Matt can feel the crushing disappointment as he walks into the room. It’s so different from the atmosphere he felt after the preseason. They all seem to be limping, even Mitch is hanging his head and refusing to look anyone in the eye.

When Matt takes off his under armour, he pokes at a blooming bruise on his rib cage. It’s not the worst he’s ever gotten. It barely hurts and it’s in a part of his body that doesn’t move and bend too much unless he wants it too. It’s a good bruise, the kind you take pride in. The kind that when Matt traces the edges of it, he feels stronger, not weaker.

He hears a soft inhale of breath and looks up to see Mitch kind of just, staring at him, a little lost maybe. When he sees Matt is looking back though, he gives him a soft smile and goes back to undressing himself.

It’s weird.

They’re going right to Minnesota for the next game, and when they get into their hotel in St. Paul, Mitch all but collapses on the bed.

“You good?” Matt asks. It didn’t look like he took any bad hits, but he’s so small and hockey moves so fast, Matt wouldn’t be surprised if he missed something.

“Yeah,” Mitch mumbles into the pillow. “Exhausted.”

Matt nods even though Mitch can’t see him and lays his suitcase out on the floor, grabbing Mitch’s and putting it next to his. Mitch likes to just leave it by the door and then whine about it in the morning when he couldn’t just reach for it, and had to go across the room to grab it. So Matt did his thing and put their suitcases side by side to make life a little bit easier for both of them in the morning. He tried suggesting Mitch take the bed closer to the door if he insisted on leaving his his suitcase there but Mitch liked that idea even less. So Matt dropped it.

“How’re you?” Mitch asks when Matt walks back over to the bed and pulls down the covers. He changed into the clothes he slept in on the plane like most of the guys did, so he could just slip right into the bed.

“I’m fine,” Matt said.

“You got that, uh, bruise on your stomach. It looks like it hurts.”

“Nah,” Matt shrugged. “I’ve had worse, it’s fine.”

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It’s okay.”

“Let me see.”

“What?”

Mitch scrambles from his bed and sits next to Matt on his. “Just let me check it out, jeez. I want to make sure you’re not lying or whatever.”

“They have trainers for that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mitch doesn’t really wait for Matt to answer, just reaches over for him and grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling up. Matt feels his breath kind of freeze in his chest as Mitch tilts his head to stare at the bruise on his side. He’s not like, exposed, to Mitch or anything, it’s just the side of his ribcage but when Mitch reaches out to touch it, he jumps.

“You’re hurt,” Mitch frowns,

“No I just,” Matt pauses to breathe. “It surprised me, your hands are cold.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mitch doesn’t take his hand off of Matt’s skin, just trails it around the bruise, like Matt was doing in the locker room. It’s soft, and lingering and it feels so intimate, Matt can’t even fucking pretend like he’s not getting hard just from this. Mitch’s hands are soft and they leave a buzzing sensation in their wake and Matt...he doesn’t know...he can’t.

“Stop,” Matt says and yanks his shirt back down. “I’m fine, seriously.”

Mitch is still frowning concerned but he pulls his hand back. “Okay yeah, it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But hey, you’ll have Boyle on your line. He’ll like, kick anyone’s ass who tries to hurt you.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, but have you seen him fight? He’s not good at it, he’s just really big.”

“Yeah, well, that makes him better than me, probably.”

“Yeah, you wanna be my enforcer?” Matt asks.

He doesn’t know if he makes up the flush along Mitch’s cheeks but Mitch just smirks and says, “Someone’s gotta be, pretty boy.”

“Did _you_ just seriously call _me_ pretty boy?”

Mitch just smiles at him even bigger.

 

********

 

_I’m glad you let go of this gay thing. You never would have made it if you kept thinking you were attracted to men._

“You think?”

_The NHL finds any sort of weakness and snuffs it out._

“Yeah, it’s good, I guess it was just a phase or something.”

_You were mistaken, but no one can blame you for being confused. What’s important is that you figured it out before too long. There aren’t any fags in the NHL for a reason._

“Yeah.”

 _Not that I have anything against them doing their thing, but it’s just true. Gay people aren’t as tough, that’s why they’re gay in the first place you know? Men are only attracted to other men when they can’t take care of a woman. But I raised you tough, I knew you’d get out of that_.

“Yeah, Sometimes I think I’m the toughest guy on this team.”

_Yeah, maybe you are, maybe that’s why they still have you on the team. But it’s also possible they’re just keeping you around to up your value to trade you somewhere else._

“But then I’d still be in the NHL.”

_Not if that other team sends you down. I’m just trying to be realistic with you Matt, you’re not going to stay here forever. Don’t fall in love with the city or your team, you’re just going to get your heartbroken. Have you been paying attention to Konecny? Chychrun?_

“Not really, but they say they’re doing good.”

_They are. They’re kids that are going to build themselves into NHL players. The AHL is much more fitting for your style of play anyway._

“I guess it is. Babcock believes in me up here, though.”

_I think I know my son better than Babcock does._

 

*****

 

Matt gets his first NHL goal off of a feed from Brian Boyle in their second game together. Brian tells him to go right for the net and get in their way, be a nuisance. So Matt does, he trusts Brian, he just met him but he trusts him.

They’re down low in the corners and Matt helps Brian dig the puck out of a Blackhawks player’s feet. The moment Brian gets it, Matt dashes for the front of the net, ignores the way a defender shoves at his shoulders. He plants his skates and decides he’s not leaving, he doesn’t care how many times the goalie swipes at his calves or the defenders throw elbows into his chest.

Brian throws the puck on net, it’s soft, and Matt knows it’s not meant to go in without his help. He tracks the puck through the air, doesn’t focus on anything else but the puck and his hands. All he does is lift his stick and he feels the puck ricochet off of it.

Brian’s arms in the air are his first indication that it went in, the whole arena is silent and the light goes off, but the goal horn doesn’t. Matt just...he wasn't expecting it to go in. He can’t even react before Brain grabs him in a hug, and then Mo and Z and Sosh are piling on with him.

“Amazing hands rookie!” Brian is shouting at him. “Amazing!”

After the game, Matt can’t stop staring at the puck they wrapped tape around and wrote “1st NHL Goal vs CHI.” It’s heavy in his hand, unlike any other puck he’s held before.

He doesn’t know what to feel about it.

“That’s awesome,” Auston knocks his shoulder. “Against Chicago too, like, that’s not a joke.”

“Says the guy who scored 4 goals in his first NHL game,” Matt says.

“Okay well, whatever,” Auston waves off. “Just because I’m the best player on this team does not mean I can’t be supportive.” He’s joking and Matt looks up to smile at him.

“Besides,” Auston continues, “that was Ottawa, this is Chicago. When was the last time the Senators did anything? I mean, Seabrook was trying to cross check you in the face and you barely budged. Like, I’m not saying you’re the only guy who would have put themselves through that just to get a goal, but, you’ve been working hard all year. It was about time a goal like that went in for you.”

“I mean yeah, but it was mostly Brian,” Matt says, looking back down at the puck, spinning it in his hand. “He just told me what to do and tossed me the puck.”

“If you hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have gone in, hockey is a team sport you know? You need someone to assist to get a goal, but to get a goal you also need someone to score it.” Auston knocks him in the shoulder again. “You’re allowed to be proud of yourself, you know.”

“What’d you do with your pucks?” Matt asks.

“Like, after Ottawa?”

Matt nods.

“I gave them all to my mom. She was crying on national televisionso it was like, the least I could do,”

Matt nods again. “I guess I’ll figure something out.”

“You can’t go wrong with a plaque.”

“That’s weird, though, right? Framing your own shit? That’s totally chirp worthy.”

“Okay, yeah, but since when do you care about being chirped? No one is going to hurt your feelings too bad because we know you’ll just murder us in our sleep. Speaking of which, I don’t know how Mitchy is still alive.”

“You know,” Matt starts, “I need someone to make me look good.”

Auston laughs at that.

They fly home that night, and Matt knows he should be excited about it, that they’re going to spend the night in Toronto, at “home.” The only problem is it doesn’t feel like home. Matt still lives in a hotel room, so it’s not too different than being on the road. And it’s a lot more lonely. He’s used to either Goat or Mitch all up in his space, but at home his room is empty.

He’s tired and sore, but there are dark corners in the room, and he can’t sleep with them watching him. So Matt throws leftovers into the microwave and sits down to eat it at the end of his bed while he watches infomercials about a pan that doesn’t stick. It feels slow, and stale, and his eyes keep flicking back towards the puck on the desk.

Somehow the puck manages to be louder than Mitch.

And it’s way too late, but Matt fumbles with his phone next to him on the bed and his finger hovers over the keyboard. He doesn’t know what he’d text Mitch, since it’s approaching 3 am, but he wants him to say something stupid back.

Instead Matt throws the empty bowl into the sink and lets it fill with water to soak overnight. He then goes and plugs his phone into its charger and grabs the puck off the desk. He ignores his reflection in the mirror because he doesn’t need to look to see how dark the circles under his eyes are, and heads into the bathroom. He puts the puck in the cabinet under the sink, hidden under the hair dryer he’s never used.

It makes the heaviness in the room lift, and Matt has no problem crawling into his bed and crashing with the TV still on.

 

*******

 

_You’re lucky they got Boyle, eh?_

“Yeah, he’s been great. He’s really been looking out for me.”

_Good, I like the way he plays. He’s tough, like you. He’s the type of player you should be comparing yourself too._

“Yeah, he’s a good guy too. I mean, he’s a little bit bigger than me, but I think I might be a better fighter.”

_What makes you think that? He’s 13 years older than you, Matt._

“His balance on the ice isn’t great. I mean, I haven’t...I haven’t fought in the NHL yet or anything, but I’ve seen some of his highlights. I think I could take him.”

_He fought Zdeno Chara, Matt._

“Okay, but not well, and that’s not even a fair comparison. No one would do well against Chara. He makes everyone look stupid.”

_Well, when you fight Chara, we can start talking about how much of a better fighter you are. Maybe you should focus on fighting a little bit more, really start showing your worth._

“Babcock wants me to be more defensive, go on the PK and stuff.”

_Why?_

“He thinks that’s what I’m good at. And rookies don’t really fight.”

_You gotta stick out somehow._

 

*****

 

The next few months go pretty well, the NHL is a grind and Matt is feeling it in his bones. If he thought the OHL was war, then the NHL is nuclear. He gets in his first fight in November against Tom Wilson of the Washington Capitals. It feels good because he wins, and it feels terrible because Wilson gets more punches in than he does. Matt weathers storms though, sometimes that’s all he does. So when Wilson throws an uppercut that misses clean, Matt lunges, grabbing him around the shoulders and -- holding Wilson close -- he punches him back. He finally is able to wrestle Wilson to the ground on the ice, piling on top of him as the refs go to pull him away.

He feels gross and sick after the game, his head ringing and his jaw sore. He rubs at it gently, feeling for tender spots or bruises. He thinks he’ll be okay it just aches when he opens it too far, but that’s all.

Hunwick pulls him in for a hug after the game and pats him on the head. “You’re a warrior, rookie,” he says.

“Thanks, Hunny,” Matt says back.

“No that was _my_ thanks,” Hunwick says.

“That’s my job.”

“It’s your job to be tough, not your job to protect me. Besides,” Hunwick pauses. “Everyone has their own skills. You deserve recognition for yours.”

“Yeah,” Matt says blankly.

After he showers and changes he checks his phone and sees he has a text from a number he’s never seen before.

_Good fight._

And another

_I heard some things. I’m staying at the Westin, room 416._

Matt swallows and tightens his fingers around his phone. He doesn’t know exactly who this is or what he heard but he can put the pieces together.

_Okay._

He throws his phone into his pocket and slings his backpack over his shoulder. It’s a bad idea, it’s a _terrible_ idea, but the hotel is on his way home. Even as he is thinking it’s a bad, terrible, horrible idea, he pulls into the parking lot and sits, staring at the steering wheel. He doesn’t know if he should be more concerned that someone around the O, someone who had to have been close with him, is going around telling random people like Tom Wilson that he goes to guys hotel rooms, or that he’s so desperate for it.

He doesn’t know anything about Tom Wilson except that he has sharp blue eyes and that he’s huge. Matt can still feel the ghost of his strength from the fight, when he pulled Tom down to the ice and fell on top of him. He’s thick, and big, and Matt is desperate to feel that again.

He shoots Tom another text, saying that he’s coming up just so he’s not surprised when Matt gets there. There’s a few seconds of pure terror before Matt knocks when he thinks, ‘What if this is like Ovi, or something?’ but that is extinguished when Tom is the one who opens the door.

Tom doesn’t say anything just presses a finger to his lips, the universal sign for ‘shut the fuck up my teammates don’t know I bang dudes.’ Matt nods and steps in. It feels intimidating, it feels like a lot. Tom is not only bigger than him, but fucking gorgeous too, and he’s standing in boxers and a t shirt and Matt is still in his suit and everything feels off kilter and out of whack and he doesn’t even know why he’s here. Except for the fact that when Tom steps into his space and kisses him, he fucking melts.

He’s a fighter, so he pushes back. He likes to come out on top but he already did that with Tom today, his body is still sore from it. So he lets Tom kiss him for what feels like forever and it’s nice too, Matt needs it.

It’s slow and so much less than he expects, no bursts of hot passion, not sharp spikes of adrenaline. Matt just strips out of his suit while Tom watches, adjusting himself every now and then.

Matt doesn’t know why, but he also doesn’t ask, just falls softly to his knees in front of where Tom’s sitting on the bed and lets Tom guide his dick into his mouth and fuck him gently. He’s scared, he’s still so scared, he wants to make Tom feel good but he doesn’t know what to do but to leave his mouth lax and open. What if he tries something and it’s too good and Tom knows he’s done this before? What if Tom knows that he’s gotten on his knees for guys before? At least enough times to _learn_ how to be good at it. But leaving his mouth open for Tom to use is scary too because he loves the way his dick feels, sliding across his tongue, he loves the way it makes saliva build up at the corner of his mouth, he loves the way it tastes and the way his mouth has to stretch around it, he loves the way it makes him hard. Just sitting here, passively accepting it, is almost as bad as being good at it. There’s no way Tom can’t tell Matt loves it.

Tom cards his hands through Matt’s hair and murmurs something gentle before gripping a little and tugging Matt further down. Matt closes his eyes tight and breathes through his nose but follows, tightening his lips around the hot skin and swallowing as the head of Tom’s cock brushes a little too deep. It feels awkward, like maybe he’s drowning, but it also feels warm and full, and Matt raises his hands from his lap to brace himself on either side of Tom’s hips before he takes him even deeper without Tom’s guidance. It feels thicker and harder and it makes it difficult to do much more than swallow. Swallowing is good though, allows him to release the tension in his throat.

“Fuck,” he hears Tom say, pulling sharply at Matt’s hair.

Matt pushes through the pain in his scalp, bobs his head in a slow but steady rhythm, trying to keep Tom in his mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe before taking him back in again. His head is getting all fogged up and everything feels heady, he doesn’t care anymore about what Tom thinks of him he just wants his cock in him forever. Or something else stupid like that. Tom’s making him feel stupid.

This isn’t the NHL. There are no expectations here on the hotel room floor. He’s not letting anyone down. He’s cradled between Tom’s legs, held in place by his hand, and pinned by the cock in his throat. Life is so much more simple this way.

It doesn’t last though, Tom makes him pull off as he jerks his swollen and wet cock roughly. Matt leans forward to swipe his tongue along the head so that when Tom finally does cum most of it lands on his tongue. He gets some on his cheekbone and his jaw too and he chuckles a little when he realizes those are the places that are still sore from his fight but mostly he just swallows what’s in his mouth and licks around his lips to clean up what he can reach.

“Here,” Tom pulls Matt up and gets him laying on his back on the bed.

When he blows Matt it’s tight and hot and over way too fast. He doesn’t think Tom enjoys it as much as Matt does, but he lets Matt cum down his throat and works him through it. It makes Matt feel shivery and exhausted even more but he knows he has to get up and put his suit back on and go home.

But before he does all that Tom climbs up the bed, collapses next to him and says, “I know how it feels man, but if they give you a chance to play with Ovi, you take it.”

And Matt is pretty sure he knows what he means.

 

******

 

_The bye week is coming up._

“Yeah…”

_You wanna do something?_

“Like what?”

_I dunno, we could go to the beach and burn our asses off._

“Yeah I guess we could do that, although I am a little concerned you’re not really joking about the burning part.”

_Have you seen how white I am Marty? I mean, you’re not doing much better either. But we need our vitamin D. Besides, there’s going to be no sun in Toronto until like, fucking March or something._

“Yeah, no, it sounds like a good idea, we should. Who else are you inviting?”

_I mean, no one yet, but Caresy doesn’t have other friends, you know?_

“Hmm, yeah, cause just the two of us would be kinda weird.”

_I mean not...not really. Or at least not for me. But if it is for you, that’s fine, I can invite him if you want.._

“Yeah, like just you and me, Mitchy? Seems like people would start talking.”

_Yeah...yeah totally. Okay so I can ask CC, if you like have a place in mind specifically let me know because I know it’s like, next month, but yeah._

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

_Kay._

 

******

 

Matt goes on somewhat of a tear after that. In the beginning of December he gets the chance to fight Zdeno Chara. It’s stupid and he feels like the world falls out from under him when he realizes he’s not going to be able to get out of it. He hits Krug down low, and it’s a heavy hit on the undersized defensemen so he can't say he’s not surprised when Hayes tries to start shit with him. But they’re up, Matt knows the rules, he denies Hayes, fighting now would only put their team at a disadvantage. But then someone bigger is grabbing him and he knows, he’s not getting out of this one.

Fighting Chara consists of just trying to stay alive. He tries to keep his head low and his hand locked in Chara’s jersey. He doesn’t think he’s making up the fact that Chara’s blows seems softer than they need to be, that he’s going easy on him a little. None of the hits really hurt, they just feel solid and it’s only seconds when Chara grabs him and throws him to the ground.

He had no chance, but he feels better than after the fight against Wilson.

Chara’s hand is on the back of his head when he throws him to the ice, keeping him from crashing, and when the refs come to pull them apart Chara pats his chest and says, “It’s not always going to be that easy, kid,” and Matt nods back enthusiastically.

They still end up winning the game and Matt feels really good about it, jovial almost in the locker room. Mitch thinks it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen, hanging off of Matt’s every word when he retells it to the guys the next day at practice.

Brian even pats him on the back and says “that’s not an easy matchup, but you didn’t get your head ripped off so we’ll consider that a win.”

Matt can help but beam at him. Brian isn’t wrong.

Mitch and him also decide to go to Florida for the bye week, Carrick is going with them too, and it’s what Matt wanted honestly. But it still feels a little...weak having Carrick there like he needs a fucking chaperone around Mitch. Not that...not that it being _Mitch_ matters, it’s just that ever since Tom, Matt’s been a little more desperate for it. He doesn’t need the alone time with Mitch in the face of all that.

So December marches on. They beat the Penguins in overtime, take both games in Colorado and Arizona, and Matt gets on a three game goal streak. It ends abruptly in Tampa, but they still win and Boyle makes sure to tug Matt close to his chest when they win in OT instead of going to celly with the goal scorer, Naz. And he likes that, likes the way Brian’s first instinct is always to seek him out and tell him he did well even when no one else notices him. He thinks maybe it’s the first time he hasn’t had to bloody his knuckles for someone to see him.

When Christmas hits, Matt isn’t even expecting it. He almost forgot about it entirely. He hasn’t spoken to either of his parents in weeks and he really isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do when he’s invited to the Leafs christmas skate. It says that family is welcome but Matt...doesn’t have anyone to bring. There’s no parents, or siblings, or girlfriend for him to bring along but he knows he can’t skip out on it.

So he goes.

He meets everyone’s parents or wives and their children and it’s nice, because at first no one even mentions the fact that he’s there alone. But around the 30 minute mark he feels everyone start to really get it. He didn’t just show up earlier than his family, he showed up alone.

“Where are you from?” Brian asks, leaving his wife to talk to Leo’s.

“Windsor,” Matt answers.

Brian pauses, it’s heavy, and Matt knows why ,but he avoids eye contact, just staring out at the rink at the guys screwing around with their friends, or teaching their kids to keep their balance.

“So you…”

“I have siblings and stuff,” Matt said, “It’s just not important that they be here, I told them that, it’s fine.”

There’s another heavy pause.

“I have 12 siblings,” Brian says, “I’m from another country but if I told my dad I wanted him to be here, even at 32, he’d be here overnight.”

“Well thanks for the life story,” Matt snaps, feeling his cheeks burn. “But they couldn’t be here and it’s _fine_.”

“Okay,” Brian’s voice gentles. “Come over tomorrow though, I don’t give a shit if it’s fine or not, you aren’t spending Christmas alone.”

Matt wants to fight back against that too, but for some reason Tom’s words choose then to circle in his head, so he keeps his mouth shut and nods. He doesn’t know what the Christmas equivalent to playing with Ovi is but he thinks spending it with a real family may be close.

He’s right too. He goes over early in the day and Lauren welcomes him in, even gets him working in the kitchen. He’s not great at cooking, but it feels right, to be part of this, not just come over and eat their food and then leave. She’s nice about it too, walking him through what he needs to do as Brian carries his son around the apartment, making excited noises.

“See you’re a natural at this,” Lauren says, swatting his arm playfully. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about because the crescent rolls he was supposed to be making look kind of like over bloated blobs of dough, but something about her eyes is genuine enough that Matt believes her.

There’s no touching moment where Brian brings out a surprise gift for Matt and tells him he’s officially part of the family, but he gets to watch their son happily open gifts and walk around pointing at them saying, “I got this!”

Matt was always the youngest growing up, in his family and with his cousins, he was always the baby. So, seeing this, it feels different. It’s snowing outside and the sky is grey but inside the apartment, Christmas movies are playing and the tree is lit and everything smells like warmth and cinnamon. And he’s not the centre of attention, Brian doesn’t bring up the fact that his family isn’t there again; In fact, most of Brian’s focus is on his wife and child throughout the day, but Matt is there, and he kind of feels like that’s all that matters.

He always thought everything about hockey was supposed to be cold and leave you feeling mixed up and upside down. But this doesn’t, this doesn’t even really feel like hockey. He thinks, maybe this is how normal people usually feel around the holidays.

But December isn’t just Christmas, Matt goes to a New Year's Eve party at Naz’s with the rest of the young guys. They’re all kind of pissy, because no one is allowed any alcoholsince they’re playing a game the very next day, outdoors and everything.

“Ugh,” Mitch whines and sways into Matt’s chest. “I’m too tired to drive.”

“Oh,” Matt says. “You could uh, catch an Uber or something?”

Mitch pulls back to frown at him. “They’ll kidnap me.”

“Are you serious?” Matt says, but Mitch must be very serious because he doesn’t stop frowning.

“Do you want me to drive you?” Matt asks, finally taking the bait.

MItch beams. “Sure!”

He should have known it was a trap, he kind of did. Nut he still goes along with it. And once he’s in Mitch’s apartment, it becomes pretty clear he’s not leaving.

“You live in a crappy hotel anyway. You need to sleep in a real bed,” Mitch says. “I’m not letting you go back there before a really important game like this. It’s for the _team_.”

Matt is pretty sure it’s not for the team, and he’s also pretty sure he shouldn’t be giving into Mitch this way. But if Brian’s house on Christmas felt like warmth, Mitch’s apartment feels like it’s on fire, like the fucking sun. He still doesn’t get it, how this little fire cracker can play hockey, how he doesn’t just melt the rink the moment he steps on the ice.

So Matt knows he’s stuck here, at a loss of what else to do but follow Mitch into his bedroom. Mitch doesn’t even offer the guest room and Matt doesn’t bring it up. They sleep in the same room all the time on the road, and Mitch likes to cuddle on the plane it won’t be so different.

He can’t help it, he melts into Mitch’s bed like he melted into Tom’s hand and he sleeps better than he has in ages.

 

******

 

_I can’t believe you fought Ott on national television._

“He was getting under my skin. It was annoying.”

_So you fought him?_

“That’s what you’re always telling me to do right? Besides, what kind of asshole goes after a rookie who didn’t do anything to him? I had to show him he couldn’t just shove me around.”

_Well, now no one is going to take you seriously. They’re all going to think you fought him as a way to keep your job. You think your teammates will look up to someone like that?_

“After Auston scored the game winning goal, he pulled me aside and said my fight pumped him up.”

_And you think he meant it? That he wasn’t just trying to be nice?_

“If it wasn’t true, why wouldn’t he have just not said anything?”

_Because you were the only player on the ice who didn’t do anything all game. They’re probably going to name that kid captain next year, so he’s just making his rounds._

“Auston’s my friend, he wouldn’t just…”

_You think so? You’re his teammate Matt, don’t start mixing that up with friends. I told you not to fall in love with this city or your team._

“They have my back.”

_They have to._

 

******

 

Florida is warm and humid, but in early January, it’s not too hot. Something about the air feels a little cleaner, a little more energizing. He doesn’t know if it’s the salt water or not but when he stands on the balcony of the hotel he feels like he could stay out there for hours. He really did need his vitamin D.

“It’s kinda bullshit,” Mitch says as he walks out onto the balcony and leans against the railing next to Matt. “Our schedule is about to get jacked up to 100 and we’re given our bye week now? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the rest, I just think it would be better spent like, in March or whatever.”

Matt shrugs. “I’m going to take any rest I can get.”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and then, without missing a beat, “Hey, we’re definitely just going to chill while we’re here. I promised CC i’d be like, cool about everything and not beg to go to Disney World.”

Matt laughs. “Oh god, Mitchy, what else are you supposed to do in Florida?”

“I know! We can’t even drink. CC has to buy all of our shit for us.”

They grin at each other then because sometimes, even though Matt feels so much older than him, it’s nice to remember they’re both 19 and both unable to drink in the state of Florida. Having Caresy there is good for that reason alone since he’s 22, but he also brought his girlfriend so Matt’s hope for having some sort of chaperone is dashed. They’ve only been in Florida for a few hours and Matt and Mitch have already been alone for most of it. He can’t really blame him though, he's’ sure if he had loved ones he’d miss them too.

The first night, they all get drunk by the hot tub in their hotel. They’re the rowdy kids in the complex, but it seems relatively empty because no one complains even though they’re there passed pool closing time. Matt makes sure to get so hammered he can’t feel his face, and he doesn’t remember going to bed, but he definitely remembers the hangover he wakes up with.

He’s not totally surprised to find that he’s in the same bed as Mitch, but it’s fine because they’re on separate sides of the bed, and Matt feels like something died inside of him, so he’s not concerned with anything else at the moment.

The next day kind of passes in a blur. Instead of waiting for his hangover to die down, Matt starts drinking, but at a much slower rate. They all go to the beach to relax, taking in the sun. And it’s nice, watching the waves hit the shore and waking Mitch up from his sporadic naps to remind him to reapply sunscreen. It doesn’t really help, because at around 4 in the afternoon Mitch’s chest is looking red.

“I’m gonna take him back,” Matt announces to the other two.

Caresy has headphones in, but Lexi looks up from her book and nods. Mitch is a little tipsy and sun drunk, so it takes a little help from Matt to pull him up from his chair and lead him back to the hotel.

His skin feels red hot against Matt’s, even when Matt wrestles a shirt back on him. He can feel it even more when they’re in the elevator up to their room and Mitch is pressed all up against his front, listing a little against Matt’s chest. It feels...weird and it makes Matt’s heart pound uncomfortably, like it's trying to escape up his throat. Every cell in his body wants to relax, there’s a low thrum of alcohol in his veins and exhaustion from being in the sun all day, but Mitch is rubbing his face against Matt’s chest, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

When he gets Mitch into the hotel room it doesn’t feel at all like it did with Tom, which was slow and gentle and sane. Mitch is barely conscious when he bumps into Matt, their mouths pressing together. And it’s so wrong, it should feel so wrong, Matt’s head is throbbing with it, but he kisses Mitch back.

Their lips are both chapped and they drag together in a mostly unpleasant way but Matt’s hands go to Mitch’s sides and he can’t...he can’t stop them from dipping under the shirt and tracing the fever hot skin.

Mitch groans then and pulls away before anything else happens. “Sleep,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Matt gets out.

Mitch doesn’t let go, tugs Matt with him to the bed and on top of him, “jus’a little” Mitch mumbles and wraps his arm around Matt’s waist.

Matt feels like he’s moving through mud when he rearranges them, trying to find the safest way to cuddle up against Mitch without going too far. Mitch is difficult though, thin limbs tangling themselves up in Matt.

“No,” Mitch whines, when Matt tries to put space between them. “C’mere” he says. “Be my little spoon,”

And Matt is so weak he can’t say no.

They’re out for three hours, and when they finally wake up they’re still spooned together, Mitch pressed up tightly against his back, his arm tossed over Matt’s waist.

He swallows heavily, but everything feels just as slow and as warm as before. And he’s pretty sure Mitch is awake, just based on the way his finger is twitching against Matt’s skin.

There’s a long pause before Matt coughs and Mitch says, “hey,” his voice is husky from sleep, roughed up and Matt swallows again.

“Hey.”

“Turn over.”

Matt does.

He’s looking up at Mitch from here, and the room is a little dark but he can still see the way Mitch’s eyes seem to do that sparkly thing that Matt pretends he doesn’t notice. It’s terrifying again, like getting on his knees for Tom was terrifying, like being told he made it to the NHL was terrifying. It’s big and important and it’s weighing on his chest. He wants to turn away and run, he wants to get up right then and there and never look back. The alarms going off in his head are loud and he can’t ignore them.

“Mitch I…” he starts, ready to make his escape but he stops immediately when Mitch leans down and pauses. “Oh.”

Mitch kisses him then, a little sloppy and unpracticed, too much tongue and not enough breaks, but Matt feels the whine high in his throat. It all moves so fast after that, Mitch rolls on top of Matt and grabs his hair, pressing closer like he can fuse their bodies together at the mouth. Matt struggles to do anything else but kiss Mitch back and grip him by the sides.

It’s not a surprise, obviously, because Mitch kissed him before, but he was _drunk_ then. It’s not just that though. Mitch hasn’t been subtle, Matt knows people don’t just call and talk on the phone for hours anymore. He knows that. He just. Can't put the pictures in his head.

Why would Mitch want to kiss him? Why would Mitch want to talk to him and take him to Florida and sound upset when Matt mentioned inviting someone else? Why would Mitch look at Matt like he’s the best thing in the world and joke around with him at practice? Why would Mitch be worried about his bruises and want to touch them to make sure Matt was still put together in one piece? Why would Mitch ever even give him the time of day?

He doesn’t have time to think past that, because Mitch is tucking his hand in Matt’s boxers and closing around his dick. Matt can’t stop himself from gasping against Mitch’s mouth. His hand is dry, and he jerks Matt roughly but it sends a buzz up his legs and spine. The friction is borderline too much but it’s amazing, makes his back arch and his body shake.

He cums stupid fast, panting against Mitch’s mouth.

“Okay,” Mitch says, pulling back. “Okay, Matt, come on.”

“Yeah,” Matt groans and reaches forward. Mitch sits back, against Matt’s lap making him hiss when his ass grinds against Matt’s oversensitive dick.

He ignores it though and sits up himself. He feels frenzied even though he just came, like having Mitch in his lap is all he needs to fuel himself to push further than he thought he could.

He tugs Mitch’s boxers down until his dick springs free and doesn’t hesitate grabbing it and leaning forward, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking.

“Shit, oh fuck,” Mitch pulls rough at his hair and Matt blinks through the sudden wetness in his eyes. He ignores it though, lets it make him feel present in the moment before he takes Mitch as far into his mouth as he can in the position he’s in. It doesn’t take long for Mitch to be panting, his hands wandering all over Matt’s shoulders and neck.

It’s not slow and practiced like he was with Tom, he’s not fucking worried about being too into it or too passive with it. He sucks Mitch hard, curls his tongue around the head, uses his hand to meet his lips and works Mitch through a shuddering orgasm.

It’s a lot, it’s so much, and when Mitch sort of collapses against him Matt doesn’t want to let go of him. Ever.

They go out to dinner that night, and it’s not awkward like Matt thought it would be. Mitch is still the bright, fiery, person he always was, and talking to him is still so easy. They go to a Colombian restaurant that’s probably too nice for just bros, but Matt doesn’t think it matters. They have only water and splurge on dessert, and when they get back to the hotel, Mitch is pressed up against him again, with the same sloppy kisses.

Matt thinks he’ll have to teach him how to be less desperate about it, but he also thinks he doesn’t really want to. It’s not super great but...it’s Mitch. And when Matt gets him to cum two more times, they end up in the bed, where Matt scoops him up against his chest and runs his fingers along Mitch’s back.

“I can’t believe you made me invite CC,” Mitch mumbles.

“He’s not interrupting us.”

“Yeah, but...” Mitch sighs. “It was supposed to be just us, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you made me invite CC.”

“I know, but, I thought it was the right thing to do. To stop this, ya know?”

Mitch pulls back and looks at him. “You thought stopping this would be the right thing?” he asks.

“I was scared,” Matt answers, more painfully honest than he wanted it to be. But he can’t take it back now. Mitch heard it, it’s out there in the dark room. He is scared, scared of so much, and he doesn’t know how to say that part but he doesn’t think it matters because Mitch leans back down and presses his lips to Matt, soft and gentle and no tongue. Matt leans up into it, desperate and feeling touch starved even as he’s pressed all along Mitch’s body.

“You don’t have to be, I promise,” Mitch mutters.

Matt feels like he’s about to jump off a cliff. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay.” Mitch presses another kiss to Matt’s forehead and the ledge feels far away.

  


*****

 

_You think we can do it?_

“What?”

_Make the playoffs, you know. Actually win shit. Make people scared of us._

“I wasn’t supposed to even be in the NHL. Of course we’re going to make the playoffs. I’m the king of breaking expectations.”

_Don’t be so modest, you’re too good to be anywhere but the NHL_

“I’m not you.”

_Of course not. But I’m not you either._

 

*****

 

Matt knows he’s supposed to be taking things with the Leafs slow, things in general. But he can’t help that it feels easier to smile, that he doesn’t end games feeling like he’s going to throw up anymore, even when they lose. It’s dangerous, he knows it’s dangerous, especially since February is coming up, which means the trade deadline. He hasn’t seen his name come up anywhere, but that’s scary in and of itself, because it means he has no value.

Matt’s not trying to let this thing with Mitch get to his head. He’s not untouchable because Mitch likes to hold him and tell him he’s great. He _knows_ that. It anything it makes him more vulnerable, it makes him weaker. He’s standing in the middle of a field with gunfire all around him, just waiting to get hit. He _knows_ that.

He knows that, and still he doesn’t expect it when it happens.

Mitch had texted him saying he was about to head down to the hotel conference room because the rest of the guys were supposed to be there. He tells Matt they should go together and Matt agrees. It sounds nice.

He likes to spend alone time with Mitch, he likes it alot. Likes laughing with Mitch as he tries to hold him at a reasonable distance to teach him the proper way to kiss. He likes the way Mitch seems to make his kisses sloppier just to make Matt giggle. He likes how handsy Mitch is even when they aren’t doing anything besides playing video games or watching movies. He likes that Mitch doesn’t just want to make out with him in his apartment, he wants to take Matt to the movie theater and out to lunch. And they don’t hold hands but Mitch throws him winks and doesn’t shy away from hugs.

He likes that Mitch found his first game puck when he spent the night at Matt’s hotel room and didn’t say anything. He likes that Mitch didn’t tell him he was getting it framed until he finds it hanging in Mitch’s apartment next to Mitch’s own first game puck.

But mostly, he likes that Mitch wants to do things with him. Even when they could be alone, getting off, Mitch wants to just hang out with him, even if it’s with others.

It’s just. It’s so nice. And Matt thinks that’s why he’s so caught off guard when they approach the room and Matt hears his name. He stops and frowns.

Mitch stares at him and gives him a weird look, until he catches on to it too.

“I mean...He’s a good teammate, but I don’t get Babcock.”

“Well, that’s why you’re not the coach. But yeah, like, If I knew it was that easy to make the NHL maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard.”

There’s laughter.

“Kind of seems brutal eh? That they’d get a 19 year old just to be a punching bag for the rest of us?”

“Yeah. You think he’s gonna make it past 25? That can’t be sustainable.”

“I love Matt, you know? He’s a great guy. But, jeez, if I have to kill another penalty because he can’t keep his stick down, or because he couldn’t stop himself from punching another guy in the face, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Mitch starts tugging on Matt’s arm. “Let’s go…”

Auston speaks then. “With Brian around, why do we even need him?”

“Matt, _please,_ ” Mitch stresses.

“Leivs should be pissed he got passed over for him.”

Matt nods and lets Mitch pull him to safety.

 

*****

 

“Have you heard anything?”

_Like what?_

“Are they going to trade me? Have they said anything about getting rid of me? We’re not allowed to read any of the rumors.”

_No one’s saying anything about trading you._

“Okay, yeah. Good.”

_Matthew._

“I know, I know you said not to fall in love with this team or city, but I did, and now…”

_Now what?_

“You’re right, you always were. They don’t...I’m not here for any other reason than I’m just a bigger target for others to hit. I’m not...I’m not anything to anyone.”

_Well, sometimes you have to figure that shit out the hard way. But it’s better you know that now than waiting until it’s too late._

“What if it is too late?”

_You’re still on the Leafs aren’t you? You can start preparing to be sent down or traded now. It doesn’t have to catch you off guard._

“Dad, I don’t want to leave. I’m so scared to leave.”

_I didn’t raise you to be scared of anything. Toughen the fuck up and get to work. Anything that happens from here on out is your fault, and your fault alone. Be a man about this._

 

*****

 

Mitch loves to play Boston, but Matt hates it. He can feel it in the arena the moment they step on the ice. There’s something charged about it. They’re a rough and tumble team and they don’t have a lot of star power, but they’re still dangerous.

Matt welcomes it though, welcomes the slight undercurrent of electricity in the building. It’s the first thing he’s felt besides fear in the past few days and he’s willing to hold onto it as much as he can. It’s why, when Adam McQuaid slams Auston into the boards and shakes him up, Matt jumps over the boards the minute the line change starts and goes for him.

He hates fighting, hates how much it hurts and how much anger it takes to be good at it. But god, feeling anger right now is a goddamn fucking relief from everything else, so Matt uses it to his advantage. Throws punches for every one he absorbs, tries to pull McQuaid down, tries to get him to bend. It’s Adam McQuaid though, probably the best fighter in the NHL, and when Matt takes a fist to the jaw everything goes silent and he collapses.

The noise is exploding again by the time he hits the ground, panting and with his ear throbbing. He has to go to the locker room, he can't just go to the box. So Matt does what he always does after a fight. He Ignores the pain in his jaw, in his eyes, in his head and ear, ignores the way his body feels slow and everything is moving too fast for him to focus on. Instead he just stands up, takes it like a man, and heads for the locker room.

When he gets to the bench though, Auston is standing at the end of it, near the door and grabs Matt to hug him.

Matt shoves him off and snarls. “You need me now, huh?”

Auston shoots him a stunned look, but he lets Matt go.

He gets his ear stitched up and he’s thrown back out on the ice. They let him sit on the bench for a few minutes, get his bearings. He appreciates it, because it takes a few more minutes for his eyes to be able to focus again on the ice. He thinks for a second that maybe he shouldn’t even be out here so soon, but he’s glad he is.

They win the game 6-5 in against the Bruins, and Matt gets to go back to the hotel with Mitch.

Their schedule for February is packed, and Matt is thankful for it. It keeps him busy and when Auston tries to approach him in the hotel in Brooklyn, he can shake him off with an easy “I’m too tired right now.” He knows it won’t last forever though, because Matt is starting to get pitiful silence from the rest of the rookies. Brown won’t even look him in the eye and Willy is offering to do things for him randomly.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like all the attention and he doesn’t want them to apologize to him. They’re not sorry for what they said, Matt knows that. They meant it, they meant every word of it. It’s true, it’s the objective truth. And of course they feel bad that Matt heard, they’re human beings, they’re his teammates. But Matt doesn’t want to hear an “I’m sorry you heard that.” He doesn’t know what he wants to hear.

The one solace he has is that Mitch wasn’t one of them, because he can hide himself in Mitch, but his dad is right...he needs to start preparing for the fallout now.

Mitch won’t fucking let him though. He’s smart as hell, quick and sharp. Whenever Matt tries to pull away, Mitch calls his bullshit immediately, says “No, you’re not playing this game with me, no one is going anywhere.” And it’s a lie, Mitch is _lying_ to him. It hurts and it makes the winter storm in his chest flash cold enough to burn, but he can’t help it, he has to hold Mitch closer. He’s going to lose it all and be stuck in the snow, but until then he has to hold Mitch’s warmth close, he wouldn’t be able to survive without it.

“Mitch, I can’t, please,” Matt begs, when Mitch barges into his apartment. “Please, just let me deal with this alone.”

“No,” Mitch crosses his arms and stares at him, hard.

“It’s not fair!” Matt can feel his words breaking in his throat. “You’re not going to get hurt! You’re here forever, but I’m not! I’m just trying to survive here, and you won’t let me!”

“You’re just hurting yourself more, Matt! No one is going anywhere!”

“People always go. Everyone leaves.”

“Everyone?”

“My dad hasn’t.”

“Is your dad here? Has you dad every been here for you when you needed him?” Mitch steps forward. “I’m right fucking here, I’m real, and I’m solid and I’m not going to let you get hurt okay? I’m not going to let anyone make you believe you don’t have any worth or that you aren’t needed. You’re the best thing about this team, Matt. No one wants to get rid of you.”

“They said…”

“I know what they said and it was bullshit! It was gossip and it was bullshit!”

“They believed it Mitch.”

“They can be idiots! Being a hockey prodigy doesn’t mean you’re smart or that you know shit. It’s not up to them whether you belong here or not. You earned it, you belong here. You didn’t cheat your way on this team. No one thought you would make it, but you’ve been playing _well_. Brian and Sosh and you are the best fourth line in hockey right now, and that’s something to be proud of! I’m proud of you!”

Whatever argument Matt has freezes in his throat.

“I’m proud of you, you made it, and you’re supposed to be here, with me, and with the Leafs. This isn’t Auston’s team, or Zach’s team, or Brownie’s team, or my team, it’s _our_ team, it's Toronto’s team, and that includes you.”

Matt sits on the bed and puts his head in his hands, letting out a sob. It feels like Mitch’s words are pressing right into the tenderest point of a bruise, like he’s massaging the break of a bone, like he’s yanking Matt further into his fire, in the deepest part of it that is going to boil him alive. And yet, there’s a peace to it. When Mitch sits down next to him, he feels the way Mitch’s hand rubs along his shoulders and back through all that pain.

“You can’t compare yourself to us because there’s no one else on this team like you, Matt. You’re just you, and that’s so valuable.”

Matt looks up at him and pulls him in for a hug. Mitch may be a hair under 6 feet and 160 pounds at most, but his body has always been strong and when Matt hugs him he feels like an anchor.

“You’re the best thing about this team, Matt.”

 

******

 

_Why haven’t you been answering my calls?_

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”

_With what exactly?_

“Hockey.”

_You’ve been busy with hockey all year and just now it’s becoming too busy to check up with us? To let us know you’re okay?_

“I’m fine. I’m okay”

_Matt._

“I have to go.”

_Don’t you dare hang up on m--_

 

******

 

The next day, Matt lets Auston corner him before team breakfast. “I’m so sorry,” Auston says. “It’s not...we shouldn’t have said those things at all. None of us really believe it’s true. You just get caught up in talking to each other, and it happens.”

“You’re not the first people to say that kind of thing about me,” Matt says. “I’ve heard it all my life. I’ve never been as good at hockey as you are, and I’m never going to be that good. I know I don’t really belong here, I know that most of the NHL is way above my skill bracket. But I am here, and I’m on your team. And you can say any shit you want about me. You could hate me, but I still will always have your back. I _am_ a punching bag for you and the rest of the rookies, but that’s not what got me here, and it’s not what’s going to keep me here. I do that because you have my back too. Because when I make a shitty play and end up in the box, you turn it around and score a goal. On the ice, I have your back and you have mine, but it’d be a lot easier if you had my back off the ice too.”

“I know,” Auston says. “You’re important to me, to the team. You are. And there isn’t an excuse for what we said, but we all got together and agreed it was just us talking out of our asses. We were just trying to find something we could all trash for the time being, it was lazy of us, to go after you. You’ve always been there for us, and that has more value than if you scored a bunch of goals.”

“You don’t need to say things you don’t mean, Matts.”

“I know. I wouldn’t.” Auston pauses “Everyone on this team has to be measured differently. It isn’t fair to measure you against me, or to measure you against Willy. It’s not fair to measure Willy and me against each other, or Zach and me against each other. We all bring something different and that’s what makes this team special. How we’re able to stick together with all these different pieces is special. I’m happy to have you on my team, I don’t want you on anyone else’s because you’re my friend but also...I don’t want to have to face you ever. You fought fucking Zdeno Chara, you almost got knocked out by Adam McQuaid for _me._ That’s...that is valuable and I’m not...we’re not going to forget that.”

Matt nods. “You shouldn’t. Because I’m here to stay.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> most of the abuse is emotional and psychological and is not hidden by subtext at all. it's out in the open. a lot of the stuff that's said is stuff i've heard in real life. It's not blatant in the way that his dad says things like: he wants to kill him, but he's constantly putting Matt down, twisting his words, gas lighting him, and playing the 'everyone will leave you but me' card. the tragedy here is that matt is so manipulated he loves his dad and doesn't really realize abuse is going on. 
> 
> there is implied physical abuse but because almost all of it happened to matt when he was young and traumatized, it's not graphic or specifically stated. Things like, Matt's cheek throbs, or there was a loud noise, is about as graphic as the descriptions of physical abuse get.
> 
> Also everyone in this fic besides Matt's dad is 100% supportive and loving towards Matt. The narrator in this fic is completely unreliable and hyper focuses on the negative aspects of his game but slowly starts to notice the things he does well. It's supposed to be a steady progression so that even though bad things happen to Matt when you get to the end you feel like everything is going to be okay. It's definitely more of something you should walk away feeling comfortable about as opposed to excited. There's no big flashy "And then he punched his dad in the face!" or "they won the stanley cup!" it's just Matt, realizing his worth and foreshadowing a progression in his recovery past the fic. 
> 
> Like I said this is based off a lot of the experiences I went through so if it feels misrepresented just know that it's coming from a real place. and i'm always up to talking about this over on my tumblr: mitchmarnersnohomopillow


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